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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649583">The Problem with Plot Bunnies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaia_bing/pseuds/Gaia_bing'>Gaia_bing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author Bucky Barnes, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dreams, Farmer Steve Rogers, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Happy Ending, Humor, Inspiration, Love at First Sight, M/M, Or is there?, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rabbits as Tropes, Romance, Some magic in there, Tropes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:21:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaia_bing/pseuds/Gaia_bing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, your creation completetly dries up. You don't know what to say, you don't know what to write, no matter how much you try.</p><p>But sometimes, the opposite effect happens and you have so many ideas in your head that you don't have a choice but to write, a whole, *whole* lot of them down.</p><p>This is the story of one of the people it happens to and all of the critters (and hot guy) that it brings along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (mentionned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Problem with Plot Bunnies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, what do you write about when you lack inspiration? You write about someone who lacks inspiration. </p><p>Or, in this case here, the exact opposite.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><em>God</em>, did his head felt like a bunch scrambled eggs.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This was James Buchanan Barnes' first thought as he made his way back into the world of the awakened. He sniffed and smacked his lips together, eyes still closed trying to find the reason he was feeling so shitty...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Oh... <em>right</em>...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
There had been a party. One to celebrate the launch of the tenth book of his fifteen year writing career.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
There had been music, there had been dancing, there had even been one of his friend Sam tripping over one of the lawn-chair and dragging five other people into the pool with him.</p><p> </p><p>Now <em>that</em> he'd found funny.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Then there had been cocktail-weenies and salmon canapés and most of all...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Most stupidly and most dangerous of all...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
There had been champagne.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
A lot of celebratory champagne.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Ugh."</em> the author groaned to himself at that thought.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This had been his very first mistake of the night.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Because mistakes he had made, in this particular order:</p><p> </p><p><strong>1)</strong> He'd drunk about two, maybe three flutes worth of champagne in a row, even though he was a bit of a lightweight when it came to alcohol. </p><p><br/>
<strong>2)</strong> He'd seen the humongus cake shaped like an opened book, that his sister had worked so hard on the afternoon before, standing there while everyone was waiting for his speech.</p><p><br/>
<strong>3)</strong> Getting pissed that the piece of trash that had been that tenth book of his really wasn't worth all of this hub-bub, shiniding-dong everyone that he knew and loved at thrown such a big celebration for, <br/>
(because really, a pirate caper with a busomed damsel in distress, what was so great or original about that?!)</p><p><br/>
And finally<strong> 4)</strong> Delivered said half-rambling, half-slurred speech about how he didn't really deserve everyone's praises. About how, despite being passionate about what he did for a living, this tenth book of his really wasn't worth all those canapés and even less that beautiful cake. And really, after fifteen years, what did he have to show for working, working and reworking?</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Not a husband, not a boyfriend and even worse, not even a house plant. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
And so, with a half yelled-out <em>"Thank you guys, but no thank me!"</em> and the help of his trusty friend and editor of fifteen years Natasha, he'd staggered back inside his house. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
After getting a speech of his own from his best friend: about that the reason he was feeling so shitty was probably because he was too exhausted from all of the work that he'd been doing with this book and that he really needed to get a life outside of work before it killed him from the inside, Bucky had promised her over and over again that he'd get a lot of water, a lot of rest and call her first thing in the morning before she finally left him alone. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Right." he groaned to himself once more. This was the last, last, <em>last</em> time he and Mrs. Alcohol were going to have this kind of thryst together, this he was sure of. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
But still, he thought to himself, he knew that there had in fact been some water...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
There had in fact been a <em>lot</em> of it...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And, after trying his best to clean the foul taste of pretty much well... <em>everything</em> out of his mouth with the help of his trusty toothbrush and finally deciding to get some that much-requested rest, which he <em>did</em> get to have for at least six hours...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Why in the world did it still felt like his brain had been ran over by a steamroller at this very moment?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Was he really <em>that</em> light of a weight when it came to alcohol?</p><p> </p><p><br/>
No, it felt more like he'd put his mind through the ringer rather than drowning it. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Like he'd decided to pretty much run it into the ground and...</p><p> </p><p>Memories of what followed continued to clarify themselves...</p><p><br/>
Ah...<em>crap</em>.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Bucky suddenly remembered making his final mistake of the night, right before getting those six hours of sleep:</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>5)</strong> Getting a head-start on his eleventh book.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Again, ah <em>crap</em>. </p><p><br/>
"Bad idea." he thought to himself. "Bad, <em>bad</em> idea." </p><p> </p><p><br/>
He sighed. This had to have involved a still slightly alcohol-buzzed brain...his computer...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...which had the internet and an access to emails....</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Oh...<em><strong>shit</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Worse idea. Worse, <strong><em>worse</em></strong> idea." Bucky thought to himself as he sprung the hell out of his bed, before sitting the hell right back on it, as his still-turning head decided to give him a memento that it wasn't through with feeling weird.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
All of that made Bucky groan once more, not blaming the alcohol this time around... </p><p> </p><p><br/>
...but his own goddamn stupidity. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Finally gathering enough courage to get out of his bedroom and down the hallway, the first thing that Bucky did when he stepped into his livingroom was go straight to his computer...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...and let out of sigh of great relief.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Rapidly checking the <em>"Sent"</em> folder in his email account, he happily found out that the last message he'd sent was still the one from last Friday to Natasha, confirming everything about what had become quite the pitiful party. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
So, no drunken e-mails with half-assed ideas or idiotic ramblings to anyone higher placed than him in the literrary world. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Thank. <strong>God</strong>.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Because honestly, after the shit-show that he'd pulled out there, he'd be damn lucky if no one at that party didn't want to slap him upside the head advitam eternam. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
He checked on his desktop...nothing.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Then in all of his draft folders....still nothing. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
But then, why in the world did he remembered words upon words upon words passing between his mind and his fingers...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...his fingers who were stained with black dried ink.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...oh <em>boy</em>.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When he returned to his bedroom and found his notebook on his nighttable, Bucky knew that he was in for a world of embarassement.</p><p> </p><p>Not another public one, thank the lord again for that, but even a smaller and more private one did not do good things for one's ego. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Because if there's one thing that he knew for sure, it was that still-some-slight-alcohol-in-his-system+a pen+ piece of paper= not so great results. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
He probably wouldn't even understand even half of what he was about to read, while the other half was probably just some drunken doodles and things that had absolutely nothing to do with what he'd decided to undertake. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Welp, better take this bandaid off as fast as possible."</em>  Bucky finally said to himself, as he took a deep breath, opened up the notebook and...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
...huh.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>All of this...was readable.</p><p> </p><p>It was...it was all on topic.</p><p> </p><p>And, perhaps most frightingely, it was all <em>good</em>.</p><p> </p><p>No, correct that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was all<em><strong> great</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ideas after ideas for stories danced around the pages. Ideas that he didn't even know where they came from, ideas that he didn't even know a small imagination like his own could even begin to process.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Dozens and dozens of them were there, all just staring at him.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
He counted them all: 375 different story prompts he'd ended up writing. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
All great, original and each deserving of a novel in their own right.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Sweet mercy, no wonder his hands were so stained and his head felt so drained.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...<em>oh</em>.</p><p><br/>
So <em>that</em> was where the feeling that his brain had been munched on by something came from: all of these ideas plus the residued alcohol...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...that feeling that still resided inside his head and had now extended itself towards his foot...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...wait. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>
    <em>What?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>On top of things munching away at his brain, something was now munching away at his foot.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Now, James Buchanan Barnes, single and not a owner of any kind of animals, all the while knowing he'd lock all of his doors before going to bed, even though he'd been slightly drunk when he'd done it, was a reasonable man. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
So, trying to keep himself calm, he did the first thing that he could think of:</p><p> </p><p><br/>
He looked down and somehow found himself staring directly at...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
... a rabbit.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Black, about the size of a large dog, the beady-eyed creature was just sitting there, on his bed, blinking innoncently at him, all the while just shredding the pink fuzzy away from Bucky's right foot (a knitted gift from his always crafting mother). </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Now, Bucky, still being the reasonable man that he was, was about to do the most reasonable thing possible when confronted with this kind of odd situation:</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...which was kicking the black mammal right in the jaw and call Animal Control of course...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
If two things wuddenly hadn't happened back to back:</p><p> </p><p><br/>
1) He hadn't turned his head left and right and see there, on the floor and surrounding the bed, just about a carpet-full of other rabbits, hopping and munching away at pretty much everything their teeth could touch.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
and</p><p> </p><p><br/>
2) The one that stopped him from screaming Mary, Joseph and everything in between like he'd never did before: he heard the warmest voice in the entire universe call out from the livingroom: <em>"Lovey? Exy? Triangley? Where are you guys? If you come out here I've got some lovely, lovely treats waiting for you!"</em></p><p><br/>
And, just like that, the black bunny that been busy digesting his now ruined sock from off his toes, another brown one that had been busy crunching away at one of his electric TV cables and a smaller multicolored one that had been busy just standing there like it had no idea what to do, suddenly stopped whatever they were (or not) doing and, without a second look towards Bucky's way, followed the honeyed voice from their position from Bucky's carpet (and bed) towards the livingroom.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
The long-haired man, curious by what was going on in his house at the moment and deep down, wanting to know who in the world had this divine voice, slowly put his feet down on his bedroom floor, careful not to disturb or even worse step on any of the now other directly-staring-at-him creatures, and followed the trio of summoned animals down the hallway that once again led to his livingroom,</p><p> </p><p>And he found himself staring at the most attractive man he'd ever seen. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Slightly shorter than him, but still more than six feet tall,</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Dressed in a green and black plaid unbutonned shirt with rolled sleeves,  </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Muscles that just *screamed* to get out of their flannel-and-denim prison, </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Eyes that were the color of the sea after a thunderstorm,</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Short, brownish-and-blonde hair that just <em>begged</em> itself to have fingers run through, matching colors with the beginning of a beard, this one just begging to be felt across Bucky's now goosebumpy skin. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Where in the world have you <strong>been</strong> all my life?"</em>  the author thought and honestly, probably would have said to this specimen of a man standing in front of him with the shiniest smile he'd ever seen...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...if he hadn't witnessed the stranger holding a grey rabbit and baby-talking to the creature:</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Oh, I'we wissed you so wuch, wes! When we get wome I'm gowa giwe wou and all the ower wuys the west wamn wawwots wou've ewer weaten, wes! You'we the west and I wowe..."</em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Ahem." Bucky finally said, attracting the attractive man's attention, as he raised a confused eyebrow and asked: "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting what looks like a lovely reunion between you and one of your little pals over there, but could you please tell me what in world is going on?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
The stranger, his mouth still half-opened from all of his baby talk, just stood there for a second or two, blinking also in a confusing manner. Looking around as if he was trying to find a way to escape and finding none, he did something that Bucky thought looked even more silly than baby talking a rabbit the size of a Dubberman:</p><p> </p><p><br/>
He put the creature down on the floor by his feet and, with what sounded like an attempt at a scary voice, whispered as he began to flail his arms around like he was some sort of inflatable tubeman: "Oooh! I'm a ghost! Oooh!!"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Something that left Bucky unafraid, unmoving and *really* unimpressed as he responded with his own flailing arms: "Really? And all those critters that have been busy eating up my furniture and anything that has even the tinest resemblance of an herb, they're all ghosts too?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This caused the stranger to stop mid arm-waving, as he slowly closed his mouth once more and seemed to have his minde made up for good about what to do.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And his following response?</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"No, no they aren't. But ideas, <em>that</em> they are! Hi, Steve Rogers here! Farmer and Plot Bunnies Keeper from <em>Fates and Muses Inc.</em>, Earth division, USA sub-division, Nothern East Coast Sub-Sub division. At your service!"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And somehow, this response made the whole situation even more crazy than if that Steve Rogers-guy and his fellow long-eared, vegetable-eaters comrades had all in fact been ghosts.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
"...Fates and Muses?" were the first words that came out of Bucky's mouth after the stranger had introduced himself...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...this stranger, who was still standing there with an extended hand so that the other man could shake it."Right." he said with a wide smile.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Muses...as in those ancient Greek things that gave artists inspiration and Fates...I'm assuming you're talking about those three old ladies with their threads and the tiny scissors and everything." the author asked as his mind tried slowly, but still surely, to begin to process everything that was happening.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Yes." said the blonde man and, when he saw that Bucky wasn't about to shake his hand anytime soon, slowly drew his arm away and his smile began to fade. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Bucky's mind took one step further as he asked: "And those rabbits of yours, you call them..."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Plot Bunnies! They're what give authors like you their ideas for their stories!" said Steve enthusiastically. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Bucky nodded his head. "Right, Plot Bunnies. So, I'm supposed to believe that a farmer is in the middle of my livingroom right now and that all of the creatures that he's brought with him are different kind of fiction ideas."<br/>
Steve raised a finger as he pointed out: "Actually, I didn't bring them here, they all came on their own. I've been looking for them actually."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Bucky once again nodded his head, when suddenly: "And what is stopping me right now from calling the police or even worse, getting you a direct ride to Coo-coo Town, since to me you seem more like a stalker who has some kind of information on me, rather than some mystical, magical animal keeper that lives somewhere that isn't Earth?!"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This made Steve groan, as he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"See? This is why I never volunteered for these rescue missions in the first place! It should have been Tony's big guys that came down here, they'd know what to do in this kind of situation. I don't know what to do, because I didn't finish that stupid <em>"Rescue Missions for Dummies"</em> manuel those guys gave me. Of course the guy's not gonna believe me...oh, I knew I should have threw some of that sleeping dust at him before getting into the livingroom..." Bucky heard the man mumble to himself and really, now he'd had enough. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Look, pal. If I didn't think a guy as gorgeous as you didn't belong in the loony bin, I'd incapacitated you more than five seconds ago..."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"...you think I'm gorgeous?" the bearded man said in a meek voice, stopping the other man mid-sentence. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"That's not the point." the author quickly added, shifting his eyes away from the (gorgeous) man in an attempt to avoid blushing right there in his (still gorgeous) face. Pointing a finger at the intruder, he warned: "The main thing here is: I may be just an author, but I know how to defend myself. I took karate lessons in my youth. So, you better get ready to get your ass-"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"-the buzzing."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
That right there interrupted Bucky's attempt at looking intimidatimg, martial arts pose and everything. "What?" he asked, blinking once again in confusion. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Steve's lips quirked into a smile, as he picked the rabbit he'd put down on the floor of the livingroom right back into his arms. "Your head, you feel like something's buzzing in it, right? You feel dizzy and also like something is eating away at your brain, right? It's like you only took one beer, but you feel like you took the entire keg in just one go and you don't know why."</p><p> </p><p>Something about what the man had just said triggered something in Bucky's mind. Then he remembered:</p><p> </p><p>He never went to refill his champagne glass during the party and, when he'd taken his last sip before that desastrous speech, the drink was warm.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"...I thought I'd taken three glasses of champagne in a row, but now that I think about it, it was only three sips." he finally mumbled, now in shock.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And those ideas that he'd ended up writing down, they had been buzzing inside his head all the day beforehand,<em> way</em> before he'd ever thought of getting a drink at that party.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
He stood there, completely dumbfounded. Was this part of the reason he'd been feeling so blue during that night? That, on top of just feeling lonely, the reason that he'd felt that he could do much better than his tenth book was because he already had the inspiration for an eleventh one?</p><p> </p><p>The stranger continued with a knowing smile: "And the only way to get rid of this feeling is to put down something, <em>anything</em> on a piece of paper or a computer screen. Sometimes it's just a word, sometimes it could be a whole novel in just one go. But, as long as you write down <em>something</em>, then it'll go away. And after just one go, you're okay. You're done. But this, this was different. You've felt inspiration before, but not like this. Never like this. Because no matter how much you want to stop, you can't. It's like someone opened up a faucet and you just don't know how to close it. Ideas upon ideas upon ideas just fall out of you and you write and write and just keep on writing. "</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Y-yeah. 375 distinct goes it went for me." was Bucky could answer really, knowing that this absolute stranger standing before him had hit everything that he'd been feeling since the day before right in the bullseye. "How do you know all of that?" he asked weakly. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"That's the power of Plot Bunnies.And right now, since none of them are touching you, you're not feeling it, but if I approach one of them..." Steve replied while slowly walking toward him and when Bucky felt let soft fur of the grey rabbit press against his arm...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...he felt the same wave kind of nausea/slight pain inside his brain that he'd felt back in the bed room when the black creature had been busy eating away at his right big toe...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Oh. <em>lord</em>... something set in the Medieval Times...now this was a good one...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Ow! Okay, ow! I see your point! I believe you! Just, take that thing away from me before I end up throwing up, okay?" Bucky pleaded, closing his eyes to try and control the renewed diziness. He finally felt like breathing again the second the fluffy feeling against his arm went away. </p><p><br/>
That made Steve grin even wider. "So, now that you believe me, are you going to call the cops or the looney bin?"</p><p> </p><p>Bucky thought for a second, then shook his head as he asked: "And this company of yours, they always do this to people? How come other artists or other authors don't end up with 375 ideas in one go like I did?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Steve explained: "Oh, but that's because this situation isn't what usually happens. You see, normally our company ships like three, maybe four of these little guys by location, so that the artist/author/whoever we need to provide inspiration to aren't too overwhelmed by everything. They get there, they hop around a bit, they do...whatever thing they do to get the inspiration going and bam! Back into the farm they go!"</p><p> </p><p>"And does this <em>"whatever thing they do"</em>  thing include eating all my cables and everything else that is long and circular?" Bucky asked, tapping his foot.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Steve scratched the back of his neck at that. "No, no. That's because they haven't eaten anything in two days. But don't you worry, once they're gone it'll like they've never been here in the first place and you won't remember a thing of what happened here tonight, including me. The buzzing that you felt will be because you drank a little bit too much, not because you were overexposed by all of these creatures of mine. And, thanks to this sleeping powder of mine, it'll all be like you just had a very nice dream that you just won't remember the details of and everything will be back to normal, including your sock." he replied, pointing down.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Looking down and blushing slightly at the fact that this handsome stranger had seem a part of his bare feet, Bucky looked up once again when he asked: "And how in the world did all of these rabbits ended up in my house anyway? You said it yourself: you usually ship a couple of them by location, so how the hell did I ended up with so many?"</p><p> </p><p>This made Steve the one to blush. "Oh, this entire thing is my fault really. You see..."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<em>"It all started two days ago, when I forgot to lock the gate."</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
"...and?" asked Bucky, curious at what came next.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
But next never came, as Steve simply shrugged his still bunny-holding shoulders and replied: "And that's it. I forgot to lock the gate, about half of the rabbits that I've been taking care of got away. My boss got pissed and said that the reason I forgot to lock the gate was because, and I quote, I <em>"couldn't see the simplest mistake because I was too exhausted from all of the work that I've been doing at the farm"</em> and that <em>"all this job and you don't even have a husband, a boyfriend or even a godamn houseplant to show for it."</em> And, most of all, <em>"really, Rogers, you need to get the life that I've been talking to you about before it literarily kills you from the inside."</em> And then I was sent down here to retrieve what I'd lost instead of the usual guys that usually do it. 'Tale as old as time, really."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This made Bucky slightly chuckle. At the other man's questioning eyes, he simply answered: "It's nothing, you just reminded me of something a friend of mine told me."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And that made the man standing in front of him reciprocate his grin as he delicatedely petted the creature still laying inside his arms.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
That reminded Bucky: "Hey, but are you going to get all of these guys back home? If they are all supposed to be ideas and I've got 375 of them in one go, doesn't that mean that..."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"That I've got to bring about 1500 rabbits back to my farm before the night is over and all I've got is two cages, then yeah, you assumed everything right." Steve finished as he pointed towards a pair of  large white animal cages that sat right next to the standing pair. But with a smile, he added: "Don't you worry, these cages are both equipped with a portal straight back home, so it'll be easy-peasy if we start now and I get some help from you."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Bucky's face turned into a frown: "But I can't even touch one of these things before I get the headrush of a lifetime. How can I be of any help to you if I'm like this all the time?" </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
To which Steve simply pointed at something down the hallway that was opposite the one that led to the bedroom. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"...do you happen to have anything that rabbits actually eat in there somewhere?"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
"Alright, now pass me the string. Thank you. Now, let's just attach that piece right here and...good!" Steve finally said, stepping back while looking proudly at his work.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And Bucky couldn't help but agree with the guy: this was kind of an ingenious plan: with the pieces of carrot leaves straight from the fridge, dangling on a pair of strings right in front of the cages' doors...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"So, what now?" was his next question. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Well," replied the bearded man, grabbing one of the cages between his hands and indicating to Bucky to do the same. "I don't know for you, but for me...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
...it's rabbit collecting time."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<em>"Kingsy, SexyWorky, Afty, where are you?</em>"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>"Ah...what are their names again?"</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Just think about a fiction trope or idea and it's probably hopping around here somewhere."</em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>"Oh, okay. ...Demony, Ghosty..."</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Yeah, you' re getting it! </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<em>"Hey look! Beddy is swimming in your pool right now!"</em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>"...Beddy?" </strong>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Only-one-bed."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>"Ah. And how do you plan to actually go get the guy?"</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Oh, that's one of my old ones. He'll recognize me." </em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>
    <em>*Whistles*</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<strong>"Once again...ah. And here he comes."</strong>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"See? Told ya."</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<em>"Well, there goes that lamp cord."</em>
</p><p><br/>
<em>
    <strong>*Crash*</strong>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>"And here goes the rest of it."</strong>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Bucky smiled as a tiny ginger bunny, one they'd found stuck in the back of his hamper room, was finally tempted enough by the dangling piece of leaf in front of him to get out of its hiding place, before hopping right through the door of the cage he'd been busy holding for the last two hours or so. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
He looked at Steve who, with a smile of his own, checked something out of a list.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"So, if your notebook here is right, this should be the last one." he said, finally closing the book and giving it back to its rightful owner. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Everything was done. The Plots Bunnies were finally home, which meant...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Welp, looks like it's my time to go home now. I've done my job and you've still got about three hours before you're supposed to be officially awake." the farmer added, his smile now turning a bit sad. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Bucky nodded, looking down at the floor. "Yeah. Are...are you sure it's for the best that I forget all of this ever happened?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Yeah. Those ideas that you wrote down? They're all meant to be shared across many, <em>many</em> people and not just for one guy. But don't worry, there will be one idea left in there for you to see first thing in the morning, the one that's supposed to head start book number eleven. </p><p>Because the truth is, I knew who you were before I got here, Bucky. And if I hadn't fucked things up, you were supposed to get my next shipment just before that party of yours. I've heard so many great things about your writing from all the muses that come into my farm and let me tell you: even an overused thing like a pirate caper can be a great work of litterature if its lands into the right hands, just like it did this time around. Even a simple guy like me knows that a gorgeous and talented guy like you can come with a great story, no matter how unoriginal and shitty they think their previous ones were. And your next work is gonna be a great, unforgettable one. I should know, my boss showed me one of the Fates' thread to try and convince me to do this job."</p><p><br/>
It was now Bucky's turn to blush and scratch the back of his neck as he teased the other man: "You...you think I'm gorgeous?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
And it Steve's turn to look down at the floor abashedly as he answered: "That's...that's not the point."</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Well, I for one think you're not just a simple guy. You're resourceful, you're passionate about what you do and what you care for and...I <em>really</em> don't wanna forget some of the best times that I've spent with somebody outside of work since like...ever. But since I'm supposed to..." said Bucky, approaching the other man. Taking his bearded between his hands, he added with a smile: "Since I'm supposed to forget you ever existed, is it okay if I...?" </p><p> </p><p><br/>
But Steve didn't let him finish his request, as he was the one to take the first step and plant a passionate kiss on his lips, which Bucky reciprocated in kind...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...before he felt something gently sprinkle on the top of his head....</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...and he slowly opened his eyes as he found his whole body leaning over his computer desk, his head laying right in front of his screen.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He remembered now, he'd woken up in the middle of the night to get some more of that much-needed water after what had been quite the celebratory night. (He was never, ever, ever, <em>ever</em> drinking again.)</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Sure, a pirate caper wasn't the most original idea in the history of ever, but with so many people praising it like that, maybe that tenth book of his wasn't such a disaster after all.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
So yeah, he'd woken up, gotten a glass of water, when an idea suddenly stroke him. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
Quickly, he'd gone to his livingroom, opened up his trusty notebook and had written down: </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Political tempest in a teacup set in a small town, that gets so out of proportion that it reaches international level." </em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Now this...<em>this</em> he could work with.</p><p> </p><p><em>"Huh"</em>, he thought to himself as he stretched his form, still slightly hunched over the now closed computer and the desk where he'd decided to lay his head upon just after finishing writing everything down.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
This had been quite the dream. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Quite the nice, <em>very</em> nice dream he'd just had there...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...if he could only recall the details about what it was about, of course.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And he was about to go back to sleep to maybe get some of those detaild back,</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>
    <strong>*Knock Knock*</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>
He heard someone knock on the door. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Funny"</em>, he thought to himself. Natasha wasn't supposed to come check out the reviews of the tenth book with him until that afternoon. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
But opening the door, he quickly realized that it wasn't Natasha standing in front of him...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...but the most gorgeous man he'd ever encountered.</p><p> </p><p>With the shiniest smile he'd ever seen, the blonde man said in a warm voice: "Hello, I'm your new neighbor, Steve Rogers. Just down there across the street?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"...oh yeah." Bucky replied, remembering a <em>"Sold"</em> sign on that property's lawn just the day before. "I'm James Barnes, but people around here call me Bucky. By the way, doesn't that property have a *lot* of backyard? Like...a <em>lot</em>?" </p><p> </p><p><br/>
That made the bearded man slightly chuckle and Bucky knew for sure that he'd like to hear this man's laugh for the rest of his life if he could do so. </p><p><br/>
The stranger continued: "Well, I came from the country where I shared ownership of a farm with a friend of mine. He handled all the business stuff and I took care of the animals. But when he met his now future-wife and decided to move to the city, I followed him and and brought some of our co-farm occupants with me. The littlest ones of course."</p><p><br/>
Bucky's lips turn into a smirk: "So what, you gathered some kind of poultry in there?" he asked, to which Steve returned the joking tone of voice as he responded: "Well I would have, if there wasn't enough birds around here to go past the city limit already."</p><p> </p><p>And with a more serious tone, he answered: "But no, No, I'm actually taking care of some rabbits."</p><p> </p><p>That made Bucky froze.</p><p> </p><p>...why in the world was all of this felt familiar somehow?</p><p> </p><p>Shaking his head at that weird thought, the long-haired man took a second to breathe, before finally asking: "Say, I don't know about you, but standing between doors like this isn't really the most ideal meeting situation for me. I was about to get some coffee, would you like to maybe come in, share some with me and tell me more about this bunny caring business of yours?"</p><p> </p><p><br/>
"Sure!' responded an enthusiastic Steve as he stepped throught the threshold.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p><br/>
<em>"Say, aren't you that James Barnes guy that wrote that great book about the pirates that put all those Harlequin Romance novels to shame?"</em>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>"Yeah...yeah that's me." </strong>
</p><p><br/>
<em>"Oh wow! Big fan of your work here! Say, any good idea about what you're gonna write about next?"</em>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>"Oh boy, let me tell you..."</strong>
</p><p>  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For anyone interested, here is a list of the rabbits' names and what trope they're referring to:</p><p>Lovey: Friends to lovers</p><p>Exy: Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend</p><p>Trangley: Love Triangle</p><p>Kingsy: A king</p><p>SexyWorky: Sex in the Workplace</p><p>Aftey: Afterlife</p><p>Demony: Demons</p><p>Ghosty: Ghosts</p><p>Beddy: Only one bed</p><p>Dedicated to all of the artists of the world, their hearts and minds full of Plot Bunnies or not.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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